


As a Fish Drawn up from the Sea

by lesyeuxverts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxverts/pseuds/lesyeuxverts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is all blackness, now … but he had seen it, before the poison stole his sight. He had seen her eyes again. A glint of gold at the close, a tiny hourglass gleaming at her neck, and the shining of the light on her silver spectacles, and her eyes, soft and grey – Severus tries to smile for her, and he lets the darkness slip over him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As a Fish Drawn up from the Sea

There is the blackness, first – it's purely fancy, perhaps his last, but as the venom spreads through his veins, as it takes his sight and steals his breath, Severus imagines that he feels it at work. He imagines that it burns like acid, that it spreads through him, drop by drop – each inch of progression is another sense lost. The ringing in his ears is duller now.  
  
With a struggle, he brings his hand to his throat – at first his elbow will not bend, but then it works, it works, and Severus's fingers slip in the blood. The gaping holes will not close.  
  
There is a spell that he should know – something to speed – something to end – it slips from his mind. His lungs are useless, and no breath comes to him when he gasps, open-mouthed and desperate.  
  
It is all blackness, now … but he had seen it, before the poison stole his sight. He had seen her eyes again. A glint of gold at the close, a tiny hourglass gleaming at her neck, and the shining of the light on her silver spectacles, and her eyes, soft and grey – Severus tries to smile for her, and he lets the darkness slip over him.   
  
\----  
  
When Severus wakes, there is no darkness after all, only soft silver light and velvet curtains. It's a canopied bed – he feels as though he is not at Hogwarts, although the bed looks familiar. It is his bed.  
  
He reaches behind him, wanting to feel the headboard for the scratch he had left there in a fit of temper, but his arm will not move. He does not feel himself – soft and muffled, everything is distant.   
  
The curtains are pulled back, and he was right – she was there, at the end and the darkness and the unravelling. "Minerva," he says, his voice rising to nothing more than a whisper, "don't tell me –"  
  
"I'll tell you nothing, Severus Snape." She sits on the bed, next to him, and pulls his head up, fluffing the pillow and forcing him to drink a little water. "You needn't exert yourself until you're fully recovered. I've brought you to my house where you'll be safe."  
  
His head is pillowed on her bony arm, his ears are ringing, and he cannot move his arms. Severus swallows. "This doesn't feel like hell," he says.  
  
"Hell – oh, of course not. You haven't died, I'll tell you that much – and You- Voldemort was defeated, and all is well." She lets his head slip from her arm, back to the soft pillow, and she pulls the covers up to his chin.  
  
Her hands stay there for a moment, out of the reach of his vision – Severus can't feel his throat or anything below it. He swallows again, his control of those muscles his only reassurance. "Am I paralyzed? Confined to bed for the rest of eternity? Sentenced to Azkaban? Damnit, woman, tell me the truth."  
  
"Nothing like that," she says. "Poppy's sentenced you to strict bed-rest for the next month at the bare minimum, but I expect that you'll survive the ordeal."  
  
Minerva rises, and Severus cannot move his eyes to follow her. "Rest," she says. "Sleep – recover your strength. All will be well, Severus. You have my word on that."  
  
\----  
  
 _Ripples move over the dark water, and everything is washed away – reflections, twig-boats, the stones that Severus skipped across the river. One day, he'd hit the opposite bank.  
  
He has to look to his side to see Lily – the ripples wash her away, and she's not reflected in the water next to him. The light is blurry and Severus finds himself blinded.   
  
The stones are smooth and flat in his hands, perfect for skipping, but he cannot see to cast them. He feels fingers on his forearm, and he tenses while Lily pulls his sleeve up, baring his skin to the unforgiving light. He cannot see.  
  
Sight has been taken away from him, and the opportunity to defend himself, and Lily laughs. "Just throw the stone, Sev," she says. "You've got to hit the water just right – you know how to do it. You've showed me a hundred times before."  
  
His arm is unmarked, he knows it then. She does not give it a second glance. Lily pushes his sleeves up his arm, and then she puts his hand over his clenched fist. "Come on," she says. "Let's do it together."_  
  
When Severus wakes, he wakes to cold and darkness. Lily, her reflection and his dream, is gone. He's been left alone – he's been left to die, smothered here in the darkness, and he cannot remember the spells –  
  
"Good," Minerva says, pulling back the curtains and letting light flood into his bed. "You're awake – I thought that you might be."  
  
Severus says nothing to her. He has been left in the dark – he has been left without light – he has been left to live, alone and unwanted. He has nothing to say, not even to Minerva, who understood more than most.  
  
He closes his eyes and hears a scraping sound. "I'll just pull a chair up, shall I, and sit with you?"  
  
Severus hears the rustle of paper and does not open his eyes. "It's harder and harder for an old woman," Minerva tells him, "to sleep the nights away. Sleep is hard to come by and easy to leave. Most days I wake before dawn and lie there, wishing –"  
  
Her voice catches. "It'll be good to have some company, Severus."  
  
She reads Edmund Locke's treatise on the flora native to the British Isles and their usage in potions to him, never stumbling over the scientific names or the complicated instructions for collecting ingredients or preparing potions.  
  
Severus speaks, then, when her voice is cracking from the strain, when she has moved from valerian to wild thyme. "May I touch the book?"  
  
There is a hesitation, a pause that he can sense even with his eyes closed, even with most of his senses gone. She reaches out, hesitating, and then she holds the book up against his cheek. The leather is rough, almost soothing, and Severus lets his eyes flutter open a little, enough to feel the beat of his eyelashes against the cover.  
  
"The flyleaf," he says, even though every word hurts, and she pulls the book away entirely.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
He says nothing, but when she presses the book against his cheek – when he feels the paper with its folded-down corners and the deep imprint of heavy writing, he knows.  
  
The book is his, a gift from Lily on their third Christmas at Hogwarts. He hadn't thought that he'd see it again now, after everything. He had thought that it was lost to him.  
  
He keeps his eyes closed, and does not look at it. He will not test the boundaries of this new existence, the limits of this reprieve.  
  
"This is no waking dream, Severus." Minerva's pulled the book away again, and she leans forward, her breath dry on his face. "This is real – you're alive. You don't need to be afraid of it."  
  
He does not answer her, and before much time has passed, she pulls the curtains shut, rising to leave without giving him a goodbye. The echoes of her footfalls are muffled by the curtains, and he is alone in the darkness again.  
  
\----  
  
There were goldfish in the pond in the Malfoy gardens, huge grotesque things with fat, distended bodies. Fancy fish, bred for form and not function, they were useless. The white one had a bulge like a tumor growing out of its side – Draco had once told Severus that it was trying to grow wings.   
  
It was paler than Draco, its scales glowing silver-white in the evening's dusky glow, and Severus walked with Draco for awhile, circling the pond and watching the fish swim in endless loops. Neither Snape nor Draco said a word – between them, silence spoke more than words, and there was little left to say. Lucius and Narcissa watched from their spindly garden thrones – Narcissa was smoothing out her silk skirts, while the flare of golden magic at her fingers lit up the white fabric. She sat picture-perfect while Lucius rapped his cane on the ground, surveying the family and Snape. Voldemort was near – he was almost there, and they were all prisoners, held in this pretty trap much as the fish were.  
  
The water was crystal-clear and one of the fish leapt up out of it, breaking the surface with a splash and landing, wet and glistening, on the lawn. None of the Malfoys made a move to help it – Severus, holding his face still, watched them. Voldemort was near – his presence made the earth tremble, made the air turn to ashes and the water to slick, cloying oil.   
  
Severus felt it in his bones – the Dark Lord approached, and he was unclean, and he made the earth unclean. To reject his taint or to show weakness in front of him was to die, and Severus had promises yet to keep.  
  
Draco's lower lip trembled – the smallest motion, barely visible to Severus in the gathering darkness – and he looked to his father. The fish was gasping for breath on the lawn, its gills heaving and its tail flopping.   
  
There was nothing that Severus could have done. He watched the fish die, watched Draco clench his hands into fists, watched Lucius reach over and kiss his wife's pale throat.  
  
Voldemort approached – the ground groaned with his taint – and Severus gathered his dark robes around himself, gathered his strength of will and reinforced his mental fortress. There was nothing that he could have done.  
  
It was Severus who had watched the goldfish die, while Draco squeezed his eyes shut and Narcissa and Lucius kissed, sharing one last stolen and shared breath before Voldemort came. It was Severus who faced the Dark Lord without flinching, without weakness. It was Severus who had watched the white goldfish die, just as it was Severus who bore the news back to Hogwarts, just as it was Severus who bore his new title of Headmaster while he bore Albus's plan in the deepest, safest corner of his mind.   
  
It was Severus who had told Minerva that Charity Burbage was dead, that the Carrows were coming to Hogwarts, that the school would remain open and that she would send the letters out for him. She had looked at him, her grey eyes clear and her brow furrowed, and he had not told her anything more. There had been no need to do it.  
  
He bore it, just as he bore his penance in a hundred tiny stings every day. It was not recompense, it was not equal – there was nothing that yielded up Lily's suffering, there was nothing that undid his sin – but this was all that Severus had to offer.   
  
He was not as brave as Lily, he was not brave enough to stand before the Dark Lord and offer up his life for another, offer his life as a sacrifice as though his death had some meaning to someone other than himself – no, he was neither brave nor foolish. He never had been either.  
  
"I hope you know what you're doing," Minerva said, her arms folded over her chest and her expression hard.  
  
"I hope that you know better than to question me." Severus stood, advancing on her. The taint of darkness that clung to him, the breath of Voldemort that could not be scoured from his skin – it was enough to make her flee. All good witches and wizards were bound to flee his presence, and Severus had the power that had been his dream, once.   
  
\----  
  
Severus sat on the end of the dock with Lily, eating wild pears and throwing the cores into the water. They swung their heels out into space and Lily's skirt billowed around her legs, caught by the sea-wind and lifted up like a grey sail. They shared the charmed binoculars between them, the copper wet and cold with sea-salt, and watched the fishermen through the tiny lenses.  
  
Fish were drawn up from the sea in great, tangled nets, and Severus had never been to the seashore before, had never seen this happen. Her family had brought him here, and he watched it through Lily's eyes, holding his lips immobile and keeping his feelings from showing on his face. He'd never admitted to lacking her sophistication and poise, and she'd never seen his home.  
  
"What will it be like?" she asked, hugging her arms close around her. She caught the billow of her skirt with sea-slick fingers and shivered, leaning closer to Severus and taking shelter against the wind. "What will it be like, Hogwarts?"  
  
He didn't answer her question – let silence be the most perfect herald of joy. Summer's close drew near and the seaside holiday was over and Severus was not going to lose his friend at Hogwarts – they'd both be sorted into the same House, he'd make sure of that.   
  
His mother had found her old schoolbooks, had taken her old robes and Transfigured them for him. He'd a battered old trunk and a battered old owl, but he was going to Hogwarts and he would do his mother proud, there was no question of that. There was no question of returning, not to this, and there was no question of leaving Lily. Severus bit his lip until the blood came and tasted heavy on his tongue.   
  
The fish were hauled up in tangled nets, their fins flashing silver with sea-spray, and the fishermen hoisted the nets up from the sea and into their skiffs, turning for the shore only when dusk began to break over the water.   
  
"They shouldn't fish in so close to shore," Lily said, pointing at the nearest boat. "They'd catch more fish if they went further out."  
  
Severus showed her the smudge of grey on the horizon, the clouds roiling just out of their reach. "They've finished fishing. It's not safe to stay too far out," he told her. "There's a storm coming – they're coming home for dinner."   
  
Whenever he mentioned food, Lily found a way to feed him. She'd sent him climbing the tree to win the wild pears, had given most of them to him and hadn't looked twice when he ate them down to the cores. She grasped his wrist now and pulled him to his feet, dragging him down the length of the dock and back toward her parents. "Come on," she said. "Race you to tea."  
  
\----  
  
Minerva had sent an owl to Severus before the sun had set. Zeusling, he called Minerva, and she was – some uncanny wisdom sprung incarnate and fully formed into the world, ready to do battle with wits or wand. He burned the letter unread – he could not afford to let her soft words weaken him.  
  
The Carrows had been added to the wards, their curricula added to all the lists and their books ordered. There would not be much need for books at Hogwarts in the months to come.   
  
Severus pursed his lips together, replacing his wand and taking up his quill. He ran the tip of the feather under his chin, up along the line of his jaw and in a broad sweep across his face. He'd been touched so, once by Lily and later, when he had come back to Hogwarts, by Minerva. They'd sistered him and mothered him and when his own mother was gone, they had laid their hands on him and he had allowed their touch.  
  
Severus had not been touched in years.  
  
The perch where Fawkes had sat and slept and burned was empty, and the portraits were turned in, paint toward the walls. Severus would have no witnesses for his actions in this office. He was accountable to himself – to himself, and to Albus, and to Lily. He needed no other judges.  
  
When Minerva's grey owl came back to him, rapping on the diamond-paned glass until Severus let it swoop into the room, he'd had enough. He took the scroll from it, scrawled a hasty curse onto the flattened parchment, and tied it onto the owl's leg again. He'd had enough of Minerva's interference, enough of her mothering. She did not understand and she would not understand. It was Severus's duty to ensure that she never knew.  
  
There were spells that could be done, certain wards and charms that would protect the students – nothing strong, nothing suspicious, but enough to shield them a little. It would be enough to tip the balance, sometimes.  
  
Severus should have been able to do more.  
  
When the owl returned, it came on Minerva's shoulder. She knocked the door down, spelling it back on its hinges and facing him across the desk. Her hair was coming down in wisps from her tight bun. Night had fallen – she was haloed by the moonlight coming in through the windows.   
  
"Severus Snape, you are a fool and a coward," she told him. "Why won't you let me help you? There's still time for you, time for you to rethink your decisions and change your mind. Even after everything that you've done, the crimes you've committed … come back to the light. Come back to us."  
  
"Yes," Severus said, sitting down at Albus's desk and drawing a fresh sheet of parchment toward him. He began to make a list of supplies to order for the new school year. There were many things for Severus to do – he began to list them all, writing in a cramped, tiny scrawl that she would be unable to decipher. He did not look up at her. "I remember the treatment that I've received from the good and golden exemplars of the light, Professor McGonagall. If that is all, you may go now."  
  
She grasped his shoulder – he looked down at her hand, twitching his lips and giving her the expression that he would give to a dead beetle that he'd found unsuitable for use in a potion.   
  
He did not need to be touched, not at the end of all things, not now.  
  
"You're better than this, Severus. Haven't all of these years here meant something to you? Albus trusted you, and you betrayed that trust –"  
  
Severus cast a stinging hex at her hand and shrugged her hand away. He would not be touched again.   
  
"That will be all, Professor McGonagall. You will learn that it is best not to question me."  
  
\----  
  
Once the charms that numb his throat are removed, Severus finds that he can swallow without the aid of spells. Minerva helps him to sit up in bed, one of her arms around his shoulders and her hand rubbing the muscles of his throat. The scar tissue is tight and ragged, hot and hurtful to the touch – with her help, he can swallow. With her help, he can speak without pain.  
  
Her touch is almost too much, almost enough to undo him – each breath he takes is a gasp, and each instant without pain is a blessing. Her hand is warm on his throat, and she does not hurt him.  
  
She rubs the potion into his skin, her fingers moving in soothing circles. He cannot identify it – he grasps for the memory but comes up empty. Bergamot and tansy, yarrow and poppy, he can smell the ingredients and he can imagine brewing.   
  
It's a potion that he has made before, he's almost certain. He gestures to the jar while Minerva works, and she shakes her head a little. "Yes," she says, taking another scoop of salve in her hands, "it's from your own personal stock. You needn't be so paranoid, Severus – I'm here to help you, not to poison you."  
  
She'd never tried to poison him. Severus knows this, even though his other memories are hazy.   
  
He has forgotten Lily's face, but still remembers the colour of her eyes and the shape of her mouth – she had been cold already when he found her. He remembers the small, delicate bones of her hand, and he remembers the arch of her arm, flung out. She had been reaching toward Harry, even in death, and Severus had knelt to close her fingers into a fist.   
  
Her skin had been cold, and Severus had stared at his hand when he was done – this hand that had touched her, these fingers that had known the chill of her skin and the stubborn, stiff muscles that refused to yield.  
  
Minerva strokes his throat, coaxing the muscles to relax, and Severus has no choice but to let her to touch him. His muscles clench at her touch, at the firm pressure on his throat, but he has no choice.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy's owled to say that he'd like to visit," she tells him. Severus jerks away from her touch and she tsks, holding him in place. "The potion does you no good while it's still in the vial. You need this for your recovery."  
  
When Draco comes, he comes in state – he's followed by a train of Slytherins, a nest of snakes waiting to see Severus. They will test him for his weaknesses even as they pretend to pay homage to him, and Severus refuses to see them. Minerva sends them away, and Draco sits on the edge of the bed.   
  
Without asking, without waiting for the barest permission, he tilts Severus up in bed, supporting him when he would have fallen, and helps him to drink. The water is cool and soothing, washing away the pain and inflammation – Severus closes his eyes.  
  
Draco bends close to him, whispering in his ear while Minerva is across the room. "I'm spending all of my time looking for the antidote, Professor. She claims that it isn't safe to go to St. Mungo's for the cure until Potter has cleared your name … but I'll find it."  
  
The world is filled with families, and there are so many of them that Severus has failed. There are so many of them that have been sundered by the war. There are so many empty beds, empty arms, empty hearts – so many of his Slytherins are dead, and all of the sins can be laid on Severus. If he had not given up the Prophecy and sentenced the Potters to their deaths –   
  
He turns away from Draco, closing his eyes. After everything, he is tired.  
  
"That's enough, now." Minerva bustles Draco from the room and turns back to Severus, settling him on his pillows.   
  
"After everything that you've done for us – you deserve to rest, Severus. Sleep well."  
  
Sleep is a long time in coming, but Severus welcomes the dreams – for all that he hears Lily's last screams, he sees her face again. There she is, and there is her son, ready to die.   
  
He's the willing and perfect sacrifice, and Severus has brought him to death, has led him to death with silvery memories and silvery shadows, a cold glass vial and a wisp of mist and magic. His doe led Harry to the sword, and he led Harry to his death. After everything that Severus has done, he cannot be forgiven for this.  
  
\----  
  
When Draco returns, he returns in a sulk and he brings Hermione Granger with him. She stands in the doorway, her hands folded in front of her and she doesn't fidget.  
  
Severus sneers and makes a dismissive gesture – the barest twitch of his hand is all that he can manage, just the flick of his fingers on the grey blankets. It should be enough to send her scurrying, it should be enough to say that she was not needed, but it seems to encourage her instead. She comes closer and peers at his throat, and only looks him in the eye when she straightens up. "Yes," she says. "Do you understand what's happened to you, Professor?"  
  
He is no fool – he glares at her, and she flinches. "Yes. Well… We'll be trying to recreate the antidote that they used to cure Mr. Weasley, Draco and I. I've got as much information as I can out of the healers at St. Mungo's, considering the circumstances, and Professor McGonagall's given us full access to the Hogwarts library, so you see, there's every chance …"  
  
He waves her to silence and pushes her away, a surge of uncontrolled nonverbal magic flowing through his bones. It aches – more than anything, it aches. The agony tells him that this is real, this is no shadow-world or twisted Hell, but all the same, it is not enough. It is not enough to live this muffled existence behind velvet curtains – he'd rather have the shadow-world. He'd rather be in Hell than be subject to her pity.  
  
Minerva comes to his rescue, ushering the two students away. "It's not so hard to accept help when you need it," she tells him. "I know you can do this."  
  
"Bloody Gryffindors," he says, and the words hurt his throat beyond measure.  
  
 _Lily comes to him when he sleeps – she's beautiful, as though seen through clear water with her bright hair flowing around her, and she pushes his reaching hands aside. "Not yet," she tells him. "It isn't your time."  
  
She wants Severus to be helped and healed, helpful and healer, ministering to his own wounds and then turning to help others with their recovery – he knows it in the quirk of her lips, even when she says nothing. She kneels at his feet and looks up at him, her hair falling into disarray when a sudden strong wind comes.   
  
The wind goes through Severus's robes, the thick wool as cold as linen, and Lily is in his lee. He kneels next to her, taking her hands and sheltering her from the wind. "I did everything that I could," he tells her.  
  
They had eaten fish together, spearing the flaky meat on silver forks. They had eaten wild pears and tossed the cores into the sea, watching them bob away on the tide. They had raced together – they had run and laughed and lived together. She had fed him when he was hungry. Severus had failed her.  
  
She touches his cheek. "Everything is as it was meant to be, Sev."  
  
Then she is gone, drifting away like a dream, and Severus has forgotten her face._  
  
When he wakes, he is chilled through to his bones, his blood flowing sluggishly through his veins as though too cold to continue, and the only warmth remaining to him is on his cheek where she touched him.  
  
\----  
  
More and more of the spells have been released – Severus is free to move now, and he crosses his arms over his chest when Granger comes into the room, half the library in her arms. She can't see over the tower of books – they topple when she trips, and Severus catches them with a wave of his hand and a nonverbal spell.  
  
His magic is stronger, surer – it flows through his veins as it always had, before. It responds to his command as though it never betrayed him, as though it never left him in those last few moments before the darkness descended –  
  
"Good morning, Professor … oh no, don't try to speak. I wouldn't want you to strain your throat any more than necessary."  
  
She's not Lily, with unbounded optimism and a breathtaking joy in the world – nor is she Minerva, grey-eyed Zeusling with a will of steel and the willingness to run rough-shod over Severus. Granger piles her books on the table by his bed and peers at Severus's scars, not meeting his eyes.   
  
"You're looking much better today," she says, and he snorts.  
  
"There's no need for useless flattery, Miss Granger." Even after all the potions and the spells, all the time spent healing, his voice comes out as a whisper, barely audible.  
  
She tries to motion him to silence, and he glares at her. The door opens and Draco stalks into the room, standing behind her and twirling his wand between his fingers. There's a hex poised on his lips – Severus can see it in the gleam in his eyes – but the only thing he says is, "Don't disturb Professor Snape. He doesn't need –"  
  
"At least I've done something for the man other than mope around and waste all my time getting a new wand, you useless –"  
  
"At least I'm not a useless Mud –"  
  
Severus waves them both to silence with a nonverbal Muffliato. He swallows, hard, and manages to say, "I do not believe in coddling, children. If you intend to argue, do it in your own time and your own place, not in my sickroom. If you've any differences to –"  
  
His voice fails him, and Granger kneels next to him, rubbing more of the potion onto his throat. She spills it on his pillows in her haste – he can smell it, almost taste it, but he still cannot name it. The venom has eaten his memory until it is ragged and holey, no better than his throat.  
  
Draco tries to knock her away from Severus. "How dare you lay your hands on him –"  
  
They quarrel and quibble, glaring at each other, and Minerva comes to his rescue. "I thought I heard raised voices."  
  
Lily had done just this – Severus had seen it a thousand times. He'd watched her do it, stopping an argument among the useless Gryffindor boys, soothing hurts and healing them with her sweet words. Minerva does the same, sending the students away on separate errands, sending them to see to Severus's healing. Research, supplies, tasks that made them feel useful – it was something that she'd never done for Severus when he was brawling as a student.  
  
She smoothes down the wrinkles in his blankets, hovering next to his bed. She mothers him and smothers him, and he glares at her until she smiles. "Oh, Severus. It's not so bad as all that, is it? Poppy thinks you'll be ready to leave in a few weeks, if all goes well."  
  
 _If all goes well_ – Minerva and Albus, preparing to leave for battle – Albus, preparing to make Severus his murderer – Lily, preparing to sign her life away to a friend's trust – the memories blur and meld, and he isn't certain who has said it. He doesn't know anymore.  
  
He had stared at Minerva across his desk, rustling papers to let her know that he's busy. She faced him down with no fear and no hesitation. "The Carrows –"  
  
"You'll find that at Hogwarts, nowadays, it's much wiser for all considered if you only mind your own business." He leaned across the desk, face to face with her – his breath hot and foul on her skin, his teeth bared in a well-practiced grimace – she did not flinch.  
  
"The welfare of the students –"  
  
He did not confide in her – he told her nothing. Paging through the papers on his desk, he found a meaningless list and stared at it. "You may go now," he told her. "Go before I make you leave."  
  
"I'll see that you pay for your actions, Severus Snape."  
  
She called him by his full name when she was angry – it was a habit that'd begun after the Shrieking Shack, after her disappointment in his gullibility, after the would-be murderers were let loose without a reprimand. Severus met her gaze squarely, and she slammed the door behind her when she left.  
  
He would pay for his actions, but she would not be the one to measure or enforce that payment. In spite of his sins, there were some things still left to him.  
  
\----  
  
Minerva spends all of her sleepless nights with Severus, watching over him – he often wakes to find her there, reading Locke's treatise on flora to him. The words fill the silence and are not swallowed up by it – they echo, rustling against the velvet curtains that shroud Severus's bed, and they sink into him, lulling him back to sleep.  
  
On the nights when he cannot sleep, she sets the book aside and speaks to him. "It was a Timeturner," she tells him. "The one that Hermione Granger used, her third year at Hogwarts, in order to attend classes – I kept it in a drawer in my desk after I should have sent it back."  
  
He says nothing, and she shifts in her chair, looking over the rims of her spectacles at him. Grey and silver – she clenches her hands into fists, her fingers pale and bloodless against her dark tartan robe. "With everything that happened that year – and then the excitement of the year after, and the year after – well. It stayed in my desk, and some clerk in the Ministry forgot to ask for its return, and I almost forgot that it was there, myself."  
  
A glitter of gold, a tiny hourglass – her grey eyes, a last flicker of light before the darkness – the Timeturner is hanging on a delicate golden chain around her neck, and Severus knows that this is it. This is the reprieve, the object that granted him life instead of poison. This is his second chance.   
  
He brushes his fingers against it, the metal cold to the touch and the tiny grains of sand shifting together as the hourglass sways on its chain.  
  
"I remembered it," she tells him. "I remembered it when I needed it – when everything was over, when there was nothing left, when Harry told us where your body was left – I wanted to make amends." Her voice wavers.  
  
His voice is gone – his breath, his hope of a voice has been returned to him by this. It is more than he could have asked for, and he puts his hand on Minerva's.  
  
Minerva's fingers close over his, and she strokes the length of his hand, the delicate tracery of veins – she touches the spot near his wrist where the skin is thin and the blood pulses close to the surface.   
  
"Thank you," she says. She holds his hand, and tilts his head up to look into his eyes.   
  
"Severus, last year – Harry told Voldemort everything, in the end. We all know about your loyalty now, and about what you did for Albus. I'm sorry I doubted you."  
  
He is tired and worn and thin, his skin stretched until it cracks, his voice stretched until it's gone. He has committed sins in the name of the greater good, and Minerva – always Zeusling, always wise and balanced and strong – is ready to absolve him.   
  
"Aspling," she says, and the word falls straight into Severus's heart. She hasn't called him that name since Dumbledore –   
  
"I'm sorry I didn't believe you – I came for you, in the end. I do believe you now."  
  
Aspling, snake – traitor and murderer no longer, it's more than a play of names, it's more than a game of wits. It's more than duty or the fellowship shared between colleagues – it's more than a name. Her fingers close over his, and she touches him, and Severus closes his eyes, swallowing hard.   
  
"Thank you," he says, and the pain in his throat is gone for that instant.  
  
\----  
  
It's Granger who finds the cure, of course – she's replicated the mediwizard's potion, and she sets a cauldron up in Minerva's spare bedroom, just outside of the velvet curtains swathing Severus's bed. He watches her brew, making his memories and his voice work – he doesn't know the potion, doesn't remember wolfsbane from dragonsbane – he doesn't find anything in the roiling haze of memories to help, but he manages.  
  
A stern look, a reprimand, a glare – Severus still knows how to intimidate, and he may not know the details, but he knows how to brew. Her grip on the stirring rod is wrong, she's chopped the ingredients too coarsely, she quibbles with Draco over nothings instead of keeping her mind on her work. He finds a thousand things to criticize.  
  
Potter watches her brew, and that is the most objectionable thing of all, but Severus says nothing. Potter sits perched on a chair, as unsteady as a bird about to take flight, and he doesn't argue with Draco and he doesn't say a word to Severus.  
  
He brushes the hair away from his eyes, and Severus sees him – green eyes, Lily's eyes, Harry.   
  
Severus can't remember her face. He can't remember the look in her eyes when she made him climb the pear tree, and he can't remember the set to her shoulders when she stormed away from him that day. He sees her in Harry, her eyes and her spirit, her love of magic, her kindness.  
  
When Granger shoos him from the cauldron, Harry gives Draco a sharp look and comes to sit next to Severus's bed. He takes the chair that is Minerva's when she reads to him at night, and he curls his fingers around the glass of water on the bedside table. "Sir?" he asks.  
  
Severus shakes his head, and Potter is a noble, selfless Gryffindor – he offers to help Severus in any way, offers to feed him or read to him or fetch him a newspaper.  
  
Severus only shakes his head, and Harry settles into the chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and watching Granger brew. In a quiet voice, he speaks to Severus.  
  
"I'm glad you're alive, sir."  
  
Minerva stalks into the room, Poppy bustling in on her heels. "The potion's almost ready?"  
  
Draco has been hovering over the cauldron, watching every move that Granger makes, trying to intervene whenever she pauses.   
  
They quarrel, but after all this time spent in the pursuit of solutions and potions and ingredients, it is a comfortable argument. Severus doesn't hear a single insult pass between them – leaning back into his pillows, he twitches his lips into a thin line, unwilling to smile at them.  
  
Minerva bends over him, spreading the last of the salve onto his throat. Her grey eyes are dark, and she keeps her voice soft and her chatter inconsequential. "It'll be summer before you know it, and the gardens'll be full of potions ingredients ready for the harvesting," she says. "I do hope that you'll stay around and help me with them, Aspling – Neville planted more than I'll ever be able to manage, on my own. I haven't even brewed a potion in years."  
  
A cutting comment dies on Severus's lips, in his choked throat. Granger gives the potion a last stir and ladles a portion out into a vial, bringing it over to him.  
  
Draco insists on being the one to help Severus swallow, and yet they're all there hovering over him. The potion tastes as bitter as any draught he's ever made, but he swallows it all. Draco's fingers are warm on his throat.  
  
Severus closes his eyes, lets the world fade to black as he concentrates on the cure flowing through his veins. The subtle twist of magic, the spark of regeneration – nerves that had failed and been burnt away by the snake's venom are being healed, his senses are returning fully to him. Out of the haze of memories, he finds clarity. He sees Lily smiling at him, Potter taunting him, sees Albus leaning towards him one last time, Minerva reprimanding him for some meaningless prank, Harry risking his neck for some fool crusade. It's all there – it's all his.  
  
When Severus opens his eyes again, he sees them all – Hermione and Draco squabbling over the potion, Lily looking at him through Harry's eyes, Harry looking at him, and Minerva's grey eyes and the worried, pinched set of her mouth. Minerva who saved him – Minerva who mothered him and rescued him and –   
  
"Yes," he says. His lungs fill with air. His throat is tight again, and he swallows hard. "Yes. Thank you."


End file.
